


Ancel’s terrible, no good, very bad winter

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [9]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Ancel is kind of an asshole, Established Relationship, Gen, Humor, M/M, light angst i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 04:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: “I have an heir,” Berenger said. “My sister’s second son stands to inherit Varenne. You might remember the boy that was here last winter? Alfonse?”Ancel frowned, staring up at him silently.“You spent the first week glaring at him,” Berenger said softly. “And then you taught him to help you cheat at cards and spent the rest of the winter running around together and making trouble for poor Parsins.”“That was- your nephew?” Ancel sputtered. “I thought he was some- unfortunate orphan.”(companion fic toYoung, But for a Season)





	Ancel’s terrible, no good, very bad winter

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Young, But For a Season](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775686) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 

> This story is set in the same verse as [Young, But for a Season](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775686) because I couldn’t help thinking about that one throwaway line lol. This story is a stand-alone, so you don’t need to read the first one if you don’t want to. All you need to know is that this is five years post-canon and Alfonse is Berenger’s nephew who stands to inherit Varenne (because Berenger is too gay and in love with Ancel to take a wife and have heirs), meanwhile Ancel assumes he’s a random orphan and no one realizes or thinks to correct him.

* * *

Ancel had been looking forward to a quiet winter in Varenne, to long nights of making love and long days of lingering in bed and eating sweets and generally being the center of Berenger’s attention the way he couldn’t be while they were at court.

So of course, Berenger had to go and ruin it.

Ancel frowned as he stared at the boy standing at Berenger’s side. The boy was dressed in plain riding clothes. His knees were muddy and his boots clearly old and well-worn. He reeked of horse.

Trust Berenger to drag home some unfortunate orphan and ruin all of Ancel’s winter plans. He’d had such lofty ambitions. He was going to have Berenger fuck him in every room in the fort.

Obviously they couldn’t do that _ now, _ not with a child underfoot.

“Ancel, this is Alfonse,” Berenger said. He had his hand on the boy’s shoulder and pushed him forward a little.

Alfonse had a runny nose. He wiped away his snot with the back of his hand.

“Say hello, Alfonse,” Berenger said gently.

“Hello,” Alfonse said with a sniff, holding out his grubby little paw for a handshake. Ancel stared down at it with horror. Then he stared at Berenger, also with horror.

“Say hello, Ancel,” Berenger said, not so gently.

Ancel reached out and gingerly pinched the edge of the boy’s sleeve with two fingers, giving his wrist a limp shake. “Hello.”

Everything was terrible. What had he done to deserve such an imposition?

“Well then,” Berenger said, satisfied enough for now. “I think we’ll all have a lovely winter together.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and Alfonse smiled, beaming up at him.

Ancel narrowed his eyes at the sight. He had no intention of sharing Berenger with anyone, much less some stupid kid who’d done nothing to earn it. He knew full well how petty it was and he didn’t care.

Except Berenger glared at him pointedly so he knew he had to play nice.

“Yes,” he said with a fake smile for Alfonse’s benefit. Berenger saw through it, obviously. The boy did not. “A lovely winter indeed.”

* * *

It was _ not _a lovely winter. It was horrible. Everything was horrible.

A whole week passed and Berenger only fucked him twice, and refused an offer of morning sex in favor of going riding. With _ Alfonse. _

He spent nearly all his time _ with Alfonse _ and Ancel was livid. To make matters worse, Alfonse ate the sweets he liked, and was constantly dirty or sticky, coughing or wiping snot everywhere and most awful of all- he seemed to be trying to _ make friends _ with him.

He asked the most inane questions at meal times and followed Ancel around like a lost duckling when he was just trying to go about his business. He was generally underfoot and annoying and a complete cock-block on multiple horrible levels.

Ancel finally managed to escape from him so he could sneak down to Berenger’s study and convince him to bend him over his desk-

Except he turned a corner only to jerk back when he saw _ Alfonse _sitting in a window seat at the end of the hall.

Ancel brought his hand up to his chest. His heart was racing. But he was pretty sure Alfonse hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t said anything, at least. There were other ways to Berenger’s study. Ancel was about to make use of one of them except that was when he heard a faint sniffle.

He gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back against the wall. Even as he tried to convince himself he hadn’t heard anything, it came again, absolutely unmistakable. The boy was crying.

It wasn’t any of Ancel’s business. And it certainly wasn’t his job to- to- comfort some pathetic orphan who’d quite thoroughly ruined his entire winter. And anyway, what did the boy have to cry about? His Lord had taken him in, fed him and clothed him, given him a dry warm place to sleep, safe and sound. When Ancel was his age he’d been sleeping in an alley behind a pile of trash and he certainly didn’t _ cry _about it.

He was leaving. He was going to Berenger’s study, and- and-

The boy hiccuped. It sounded… _ wet. _

Ancel sighed heavily and walked towards him, perching beside the boy on the window seat a safe distance away.

“Ancel?” Alfonse whispered. He raised his head from where he’d buried it in his knees. He had his feet up on the seat, getting mud all over the fine brocade cushion.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ancel demanded, shoving the boy’s legs down so his feet were on the floor.

Alfonse sobbed louder and moved to wrap his arms around Ancel’s middle, pressing his face against Ancel’s chest. Ancel shuddered in horror at the thought of _ snot _on his fine silk shirt.

“I miss maman!” Alfonse managed to say between giant ugly sobs.

“There there,” Ancel said, patting the boy awkwardly on the back. “Don’t worry, my maman died when I was about your age and I don’t remember her at all anymore.”

Alfonse reared back in shock, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why would you say something so awful?”

“I’m trying to- comfort you!” Ancel said, throwing his hands up.

Alfonse laughed a little, wiping his face with his sleeve. “You’re terrible at it.”

Ancel scowled. “Fine, I won’t do it anymore then.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, waiting as Alfonse slowly calmed and the crying petered off.

They sat in silence for a while and Ancel had no idea what to do now. Was he allowed to leave? Was that acceptable? He glanced over to see Alfonse sullenly staring at his knees, his hands in his lap. His eyes were still red, his lip trembling faintly.

“I heard cook was making tarte tatin for dessert,” Ancel said. “Maybe a slice will cheer you up.”

“Dinner’s not for hours yet,” Alfonse said despondently.

Ancel stood, taking Alfonse by the wrist to drag him up too. “How do you expect to accomplish anything in life with that sort of attitude?”

He set off for the kitchens confidently, Alfonse practically jogging to keep up with him on his short little legs.

“At your age I stole the dentures right out from some geezer's mouth without him noticing, I think we can handle a _ pie. _ Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Alfonse listened with proper attention and awe as Ancel explained a classic two-man distract-and-grab job. When they got down to the kitchen Ancel distracted the cook while Alfonse snuck in and took the cooling tart from the table. Except he managed to knock some cutlery on the floor and Ancel rolled his eyes as the cook turned, flushing bright red with fury.

Alfonse looked like a deer caught in the hunter’s sights, his mouth open like an idiot while cook stormed over. Ancel gestured behind her back, mouthing for Alfonse to _ run, damn it!_

“Why, the pure gall!” Ancel said out loud to the cook, faking outrage. “I’ll make sure Berenger hears about this!”

Alfonse took off, finally.

“Get back here!” the cook cried out.

“I’ll get him,” Ancel assured her and took off running too. He caught up to Alfonse easily and laughed as he overtook him, leading him to one of the unused bedrooms. They shared the pie while sitting on a balcony overlooking the gardens, their sides pressed together to ward off the late autumn chill.

They ate with their fingers, both of them getting sticky with syrup and covered in crumbs.

“Well, that was terrible thieving,” Ancel said with a satisfied sigh once the tart was gone. “But I suppose you got the job done. I’ll teach you to pick pockets next. We can practice on Berenger, he always keeps a money purse in his jacket.”

“You know how to pick pockets?” Alfonse asked, wide-eyed and full of glee.

“I should think so,” Ancel retorted. “I was the ringleader of a pickpocketing gang for a while. Until that bastard Louis took over.” He licked the syrup off his fingers thoughtfully as he watched sparrows flitting around in the bird bath below.

“He told everyone I had fleas,” Ancel said with a frown. “Which I did, to be fair. But so did he and anyway, that’s just rude. But I got him back.”

“How?” Alfonse asked, hanging on his every word.

Ancel shot him a critical sideways glance. The story involved three whores and a bottle of wine and a stolen dress and was definitely not appropriate for children.

“I got him drunk and shaved his head,” Ancel said. It wasn’t technically a lie. He had done that, to someone else.

Alfonse laughed. It was a much better look on him than crying alone in the hallway.

They ended up spending the rest of the day together, and when they came down for dinner Berenger looked at them with a fond smile.

“How odd,” Berenger said later, at the end of the meal. “There’s no dessert today.”

Alfonse paled, fidgeting nervously. 

“Odd indeed,” Ancel said as he pinched Alfonse discreetly under the table. “Maybe cook’s getting forgetful in her old age.”

“Maybe I should speak to her,” Berenger said, his eyes glittering with laughter.

“You’re the Lord of Varenne,” Ancel said with a disdainful sniff. “Isn’t it beneath you to go around scolding your household staff? I’ll speak to her myself.”

“See that you do,” Berenger said, and that was that.

Ancel raised his eyebrow at Alfonse, who grinned with the excitement of getting away with something.

Poor thing, how had he ever managed on his own if he couldn’t steal and couldn’t even lie worth a damn? At least he had Ancel now to teach him the skills he’d need to make it out in the world. He knew just where to start. Tomorrow he’d show him how to make loaded dice and cheat at cards.

* * *

Ancel was vaguely aware of Berenger tutoring Alfonse in reading and writing and mathematics, teaching him how to manage household accounts and negotiate with merchants. When they weren’t ensconced in Berenger’s study Ancel spirited Alfonse away and taught him actual _ useful _things.

He was still a lousy liar but his stealing was getting better, and he had an uncanny knack for lock picking. Ancel taught him to juggle too, but that was mostly for fun. Though juggling could be of use on the streets- a way to earn a bit of pocket change if there wasn’t a more lucrative scheme to be had.

Despite his initial misgivings about the boy, he couldn’t deny that having a partner in crime made it a lot easier to play jokes on Parsins.

The winter seemed to pass quicker than most, and it was with a pang of worry that Ancel realized they’d be returning to court soon.

“You seem troubled,” Berenger said one night. “Was my performance not satisfactory?”

They’d just finished making love and Ancel was drowsing where he lay with his arm around Berenger’s waist and his face pressed to his chest. As always, Berenger’s _ performance _had been more than adequate. Fantastic, even. Not that Ancel would admit it. Not that he really needed to, with the way Berenger had had him moaning his name loud enough that the whole fort might have heard.

“Don’t fish for complements,” he said. “It’s unbecoming.”

Berenger chuckled and ran his fingers through Ancel’s hair, slow and soothing. Ancel hummed in pleasure, leaning into the touch.

He felt foolish for asking, for even _ thinking _ it. Berenger wouldn’t turn an orphan out onto the streets. There was probably an orphanage somewhere, or an apprenticeship, or- _ something. _But still- he wanted to know for sure.

“What’s going to happen to Alfonse at the end of the winter?” he asked quietly.

Berenger seemed a little puzzled. “He’s going to go home.”

“Oh,” Ancel said. _ Home. _Of course, Berenger had found a home for him, some nice family to take him in. With any luck, he wouldn’t need any of the things Ancel had taught him.

“Are you going to miss him?” Berenger teased.

“Of course not,” Ancel said haughtily. “He’s- a boy. He’s- _ sticky, _and- and always underfoot-”

Berenger laughed. “He’ll visit again. Not next winter but perhaps the one after. Maybe more frequently as he grows.”

“Oh. Well. If he must.” Ancel hid his smile against Berenger’s chest. “I suppose that might be alright.”

_ fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Please join me in imagining Ancel's face when he realizes he told _Berenger's nephew_ about the time he had _fleas_.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


End file.
